


Scent of a Partner

by NataliyaMFU



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 01:38:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7133276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NataliyaMFU/pseuds/NataliyaMFU
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A relationship vignette.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scent of a Partner

It annoyed him.  
  
Napoleon didn’t wear it in the field, but on dates, to parties, whenever he wanted to add some extra dash to his already potent presence. He would slide into the front seat of the car when Illya came to pick him up, and his partner would give him his best squinty-eyed glare.  
  
“Do you buy that by the gallon?”  
   
Napoleon would take the criticism in his stride. “I try to economize.”  
   
After a while Illya’s olfactory sense became so accustomed to it he didn’t realize when Napoleon was wearing it and when he wasn’t.  
  
It was after an embassy reception in Washington that he noticed it again. They had mingled with the upper crust, resplendent in their tuxedos. Napoleon sauntered up to Illya at the edge of the gathering and casually stood back to back with him, both of them observing the guests. “Is your martini as good as mine?”  
   
Illya swallowed a sip. “The best the kitchen tap can offer.”  
   
“Rules are rules,” the CEA said, keeping a watchful eye.  
  
The Russian glanced over his shoulder at his partner. “A single vodka sharpens the senses.”  
  
Napoleon smiled and gave an exaggerated nod to someone across the room. “In your case — ”  
  
Glass broke and a bullet zinged by Napoleon’s head, destined for a target beyond. Napoleon swayed, stunned, a gush of red in his hair. Illya blanched at the sight but dashed to a stricken prime minister, shouldering him into a private library and out of further harm’s way. He helped him recline on a leather couch, impatiently waiting as two more UNCLE agents and a doctor in attendance arrived in the room. Illya quickly put them in charge and hurried back to the scene.  
  
The guests surrounded Napoleon as he sat in a chair, holding his bowed head while blood streamed through his fingers and down the back of his hand.  
  
“Let me through, please.” The demanding tone contradicted the polite words.  
  
Illya knelt in front of Napoleon, taking out his handkerchief and coaxing his partner’s hand away. “Let me see.”  
   
Napoleon scrunched his eyes shut. “It looks worse than it is.”  
   
“Trying to deflect bullets with your skull is not in the handbook,” Illya said, pressing the handkerchief to the wound. “Hold this,” he instructed Napoleon, then stood and helped his partner up, supporting him with an arm around his waist. Napoleon took a deep breath, holding the handkerchief to his head with one bloody hand.  
  
Mr. Waverly appeared at their side and ordered a car to be brought to the front door. “Get your friend attended to, Mr. Kuryakin.”  
   
“Yes, sir,” Illya said as he led Napoleon out. “I can’t take you anywhere,” he whispered.  
  
After stitches and bandaging and a pronouncement from the emergency room doctor that it was only a graze, Illya took Napoleon back to their hotel. Napoleon sat on the edge of the bed and eased his formal clothes off, doubtful if the bloodstains would come out. Illya snatched them up and took them to the closet.  
  
“You haven’t said a discouraging word since the embassy,” Napoleon said. “What are you brooding about?”  
   
“I almost lost my partner tonight,” Illya said, impatiently untangling one hanger from another. “Isn’t that reason to brood?”  
  
Napoleon smiled as he watched him. “You mean you would miss me?”  
  
Illya’s tone remained unforgiving. “You know I would.”  
   
“What would you miss the most?”  
   
Illya walked back to him, watching him unbutton his shirt. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” he snapped.  
  
Napoleon struggled with the top button. “Do this one for me, will you?”  
   
Illya sat down next to him and reached up to unfasten the tight button. “You might look into getting a larger collar size,” he said testily as he angled his head closer to see. The spotless white collar had turned stiff with dried blood, and Illya envisioned himself leaning over a limp body with lifeless eyes, a shell of his partner and best friend. A lump rose in his throat that threatened to choke him. He stubbornly worked at the button as it became a blur.  
  
Napoleon’s hands coaxed him forward and he drifted with them, until two arms enfolded him and his head rested on a hard shoulder. Illya turned his face into Napoleon’s neck and inhaled, relief flooding through him at the scent of cologne that was fueled by a warm pulse.  
  
He managed to find his voice, to summon a touch of irritation. “I know what I wouldn’t miss.”  
  
He didn’t sound convincing.  
  
  
The end.  
  



End file.
